


Family Matters Three: The Horns of the Moon

by Su_Whisterfield



Series: Family Matters [3]
Category: X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: Gen, Goddesses, Magic, Pagan Gods, Profanity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2020-04-06
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:14:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 11,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23169895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Su_Whisterfield/pseuds/Su_Whisterfield
Summary: Magic and mutants, they really don’t mix.Mutant shapeshifter Mystique has allowed herself to be possessed by the ancient Celtic goddess, The Morrigan. And her son, Kurt, the X-Men’s Nightcrawler, has been possessed by the old god Cernunnos.Kurt isn’t strong enough to fight The Morrigan, but Cernunnos is.And he’s taken Her away from Krakoa, out into the world, no one knows where.But the X-Men don’t give up on their own and a rescue plan is being formed.Jean Grey, Storm and Rogue have gone against The Quiet Council’s wishes and have revived Mystique’s wife, the precog, Irene, Destiny.Family matters, whether it’s family by blood, family by friendship, or family by love.
Relationships: Logan (X-Men) & Kurt Wagner, Logan/Kurt Wagner
Series: Family Matters [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1660774
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	1. Council

**Author's Note:**

> The players.  
> 1\. Raven Darkholme, Mystique. Mutant shapeshifter and terrorist, possessed by The Morrigan, Celtic goddess of death, destruction and battle. Current location: unknown.  
> 2\. Kurt Wagner, Nightcrawler. Mutant teleporter. Son of Mystique and Irene. Possessed by Cernunnos, the ancient god of fertility: of forest, flock and field and also of the hunt. Current location: unknown.  
> 3\. Irene Adler, Destiny. Mutant, precog and terrorist. Mystique’s wife and Kurt’s biological mother. Recently resurrected. Current location: Krakoa, South Pacific.  
> 4\. Jean Grey, mutant, telepath/telekinetic, on the ruling Quiet Council of Krakoa. Current location: Krakoa.  
> 5\. Scott Summers, Cyclops, mutant, optic blast, Captain Commander of Krakoa. Current location: Krakoa.  
> 6\. Anna Marie, Rogue, mutant, power absorption. Foster daughter of Raven and Irene. Current location: Krakoa.  
> 7\. Ororo Munroe, Storm, mutant, weather control. On the ruling Quiet Council. Current location: Krakoa.  
> 8\. Logan, James Howlett, Wolverine, mutant fighter. Technically, Kurt’s husband. Marriage of convenience. Yeah. Right. Current location: Krakoa.  
> 9\. Meggan Puceanu, Gloriana, mutant earth elementals and emotional metomorph. Current location: Krakoa.  
> 10\. Sean Cassidy, Banshee, mutant, sonic scream. Father of The Morrigan’s previous host. Current location: Krakoa.  
> 11\. Emelia Witherspoon, human clairvoyant. Lives in Lower Cholmondeley, UK. Current location: Krakoa.

You know I said that Kurt was never any trouble...  
Can I revise that?  
All hell has broken lose.

Jean projects Wolverine and Black Tom’s memories of Kurt’s dark transformation for The Quiet Council and the Captains of Krakoa.  
I’ve seen a lot over the years, leading the X-Men, but this is horrifying, watching our gentle friend change, the silver knot-work of spells creeping across his body, seeing those cruel, sharp horns glowing on his forehead. Oh, damn.  
Cernunnos, The Horned God, ancient, primal, primordial. That’s what Kurt is now.  
Seeing the projection shuts up the mumbling from Sinister and Shaw.

If you want to get something done around here, get Jean on to it. Even better, Jean and Ororo.  
They’re very good at organising. At the moment, we could have done with them being a bit less good at it.  
They stand before The Quiet Council, both of them with heads held high, proudly defiant.  
Beside them, Rogue and Destiny.

Irene. Irene Adler. Destiny.  
Mutant with a skill in precognition, mutant terrorist, wife of Raven Darkholme, Mystique.  


Krakoa, mutant island paradise, has resurrection protocols; formal, structured methods of resurrecting our people. We never expected someone to circumvent them, to steal the mutant abilities which enable us to bring people back from the dead and bring someone back unscheduled.  
We never expected Jean Grey, one of the most trusted, most loved, founder member of the X-Men to break the rules like that.  
Or Ororo, Storm, mutant goddess and upstanding member of our community.  
Or Rogue.  
It’s amazing what people will do for love.

There are many sorts of love.  
When you work with people, in a high risk, high stress environment, such as firefighters, the armed forces, police or, in our case, superheroics, you build a bond, a deep, meaningful bond. A camaraderie, a shared experience, friendship deep and strong. A love.  
And some people are easy to bond with, to love.

And some aren’t.

Irene, she’s physically blind, but she’s not exactly disabled, she uses her mutant precognition to ‘see’. She’s also a terrorist, dangerous, particularly in combination with her wife, Raven, Mystique.  
Together, they raised Anna Marie, Rogue, mutant powerhouse, with the ability to absorb the abilities of others. Who loves Irene and Raven very much.  
And they’re the biological parents of Kurt.

Krakoa’s governing council declined to resurrect Irene, which displeased her wife considerably. She allowed herself to be possessed by an ancient Celtic deity, The Morrigan to increase her power, to make us pay.  
We thought we had Mystique, The Morrigan confined, but her evil was starting to corrupt our island home. So Kurt used magic to complete his own transformation into Cernunnos, and removed her from Krakoa.  
And Jean, Ororo and Rogue combined their talents to resurrect Irene, against the councils wishes.

Oh, my head hurts.

Love. Jean and Ororo and Rogue love Kurt. Hell, we all love Kurt. He’s very, very easy to love.  
He’s also very damaged by his mother’s machinations.  
Rogue loves Irene.  
Irene loves Rogue. And Kurt. And Raven.  
Raven loves...

Ororo speaks, her beautiful voice cuts through the chamber.  
“This is on my head.”  
Jean touches her arm, “Ororo.”  
Ororo shakes her head, puts her hand over Jean’s. “We need Irene. We need Irene to save Kurt.” She looks down her beautiful nose at the Council. “If you wish to condemn us, so be it. But if we had to do it again, we would.”  
Erik scowls. “Have you even the slightest idea... “  
Her voice cuts across him. “Yes. Yes, Erik we do. But in order to help Kurt, we need Irene. We need his mother to save him”  
“How do you know this?” His anger is a dark thunder cloud. But she is the Wind Rider, mutant goddess of the storm, she’s not cowed.  
“It has been foretold.”  
“What? By Irene?” There’s an ever so slight air of panic in his voice.  
“No. No, Mister Lehnsherr.” A new voice reaches across the chamber. “By me.” A dumpy little figure walks into the room, a woman in sensible shoes and tweed skirt, of ample bosom, with wispy white hair, accompanied by the impressive figure of Gloriana, Meggan Puceanu, in her true form, pushing seven foot tall, ethereal, magical otherworldly.  
Jean goes over and takes the wrinkled hand. “Emelia, it’s so good to meet you.” She addresses The Council. ”Ladies, gentlemen, may I introduce you to Miss Emelia Witherspoon, clairvoyant and friend of both Kurt and Krakoa.”  
Charles and Erik share an unreadable look.  
Oh, this gets better and better.

Sinister is stroking his beard, he looks like a pantomime villain. It’s fatal to underestimate him.  
“A child not born of man. How fascinating. I must look closer at his genome, I’d dismissed him as a mere gamma, but this shows potential...”  
Logan’s growl is loud enough to be heard across the room. The sky outside is darkening and there’s a rumble of thunder.  
He’s saved by Apocalypse adding fuel to the fire.  
“He is no longer a mutant. He is a danger to us and to Krakoa. He should be culled.”  
Jean turns, her hair floats about her head, crackling with energy. “No.”  
Ororo’s lightning crawls across the ceiling.  
Logan unsheathes his claws.  
Apocalypse is ruinously old, obscenely powerful but their fury is an echo of all our anger.  
“Enough.” Charles scowls at him. “This isn’t Council business, or even Krakoa business, it’s X-Men business and we’ll deal with it.”  
Which diffuses the tension, at least for now.

And, believe it or not, I think this is one pile of crap I can’t blame on Logan, which makes a refreshing change.

****

Logan is, frankly, a mess.  
He considers protecting Kurt to be part of his job description. He takes that duty very seriously, very seriously indeed, to the point where he and Ororo were prepared to marry him to protect him. Okay, it’s a marriage of convenience, but, even so. I can’t think of any other man he’d do that for.  
And he failed.  
Failed to protect his best friend. Failed to protect him from himself.

Kurt felt trapped by circumstances, by Mystique’s machinations and the creeping horror of The Morrigan’s spell. So, wisely or not, he took matters into his own hands and completed the spell, transforming himself into the avatar of an ancient horned deity, Cernunnos. With its strength behind him, he was able to hold The Morrigan and stop her. He took her through one of the organic Krakoan portals, but we don’t know to where, the portal died behind him.

Now Kurt and his mad Mother are at large, out somewhere in the world.  
It’s possible Krakoa knows where he went to, but it’s not telling, despite both Black Tom and Doug asking.

It’s tearing Logan apart.  
Despite our many differences, I don’t like to see him hurting.  
And we’re all worried for our friend.

We need a plan. A rescue plan. We’re the X-Men, we don’t give up on our own.


	2. Silver

I am going to kill him.  
I am.  
I’m going to kill him, slowly.  
What do I have to do? What do I have to do to keep him safe? To protect him from himself.  
I fuckin’ married the little fucker to try to keep him safe.  
And how does he repay me?  
By walking right up to the Luna Portal and handing himself over to the old, dark magic.  
The stupid, stupid idiot.

It’ll destroy him. It’ll eat him up from inside. I’ve seen it. I saw what the Phoenix did. What it did to my Jeannie. I’ve seen others go through it. I’d never wish it on anyone, but particularly not on him. Not on my gentle, kind lad. He’s not made for power. Not like that. 

Cold, empty, silver eyes in his sharp, narrow face.  
Lookin’ down at me.  
He didn’t know me.  
Xavier can’t trace him.  
Can’t trace Kurt with his fancy Cerebro. Because he’s not Kurt any more.  
He’s not our Kurt. My Kurt. He’s Him. Cernunnos.  
Old magic.  
Old gods. Old as mankind.

That’s not my Kurt. He’s not interested in power, in magic. He’s not meant for gods and blood and death, he’s meant for beer and laughter and that open, charming smile.

So we’re trying to find him. Them.  
He’s got so many friends. Jeannie and Ororo. Rogue too. They’ve gone against The Quiet Council and revived Destiny, Irene Adler. Hah, that’s one in the eye for Chuck, he’s seething, what‘s he gonna do to them? He can’t do anything, can he.

They’re trying, all of them. Trying to help him, trying to save the stupid idiot.

I don’t know where he is. He could be anywhere. Anywhere in the fuckin‘, world.  
Those cold silver eyes. 

****

Still not forgotten that Summers and Jean let me down over looking after Kurt, when his mother started all this, but then, I wasn’t able to protect him either. As always, hardest part about looking after my Elf is protecting him from his own stupid lack of self preservation.

We’ve got a team workin’ with Emelia to find him and rescue him, he doesn’t know it, but he’s not alone, were on it. We’ll find him. Krakoa has grown us our very own war room, complete with round table, like them knights of old, so we can pool resources, so we can plan.

Jeannie puts her hand on my arm. “We’ll bring him home.” Telepath, she knows. Hell, everyone can see my face, everyone knows.  
I look out at the view. Nice view. But not as good as his old place.  
“Yeah.” The pain is almost physical. “But what’ll be left of him, Jeannie?”  
“Kurt’s strong, Logan.”  
He is. I know he is. He’s been treated like shit his whole fuckin’ life. And he just gets on with it, with a smile. But this? This is beyond anything he’s faced before. And he’s out there. Alone.

When I get him back, when he’s home, when he’s safe, safe with us, with me, I’m gonna... Damn it.

We’re comin’ Elf. Hold on. Please.


	3. Peat and Pete

When ah was growin’ up, ah always wanted a brother.  
Like only kids do.  
Not a sister, who might steal the limelight, no, a big bro’, that’s what I wanted.  
An’ I got one, at the tender age of 19!

Can’t say I had a “normal” childhood, but then, can any of us?  
But my Moms loved me, loved each other.  
They also groomed me. Groomed me to be their weapon.  
But that’s another story.  
I loved them. I love them. I’ll always love them.

Oh, the joy of holding Mom again. Momma Irene. I’d missed her so, so much.  
So what if we’re breaking the rules to bring her back? Me, an’ Jean an’ Ororo. I don’t care.  
But sometimes, ya’ just have to. Break ‘em. Ah don’t know why The Prof wouldn’t. But she’s back now, an’ she feels so good in my arms, we just hug and hug. And cry. I missed her.  
And we need her.

It’s a rescue see, for my other mom, Raven.  
Momma Irene and Mom Raven. 

An’ for my big bro’.  
‘Specially for him.

Mom. Raven, Mystique. She’s... She’s... She’s hard to understand. Sometimes she’s hard to love.  
She’s done some bad things. Hell, ain’t that the understatement of the year. She’s done a lot of bad things an’ a lot of the time, she ain’t stable.  
And it got so much worse after Momma Irene was killed.

And now? Now I’m not even sure she’s her anymore. And that scares me, frightens the wits outta me. I saw what she turned herself into, Jean showed me, showed all of us. And she showed us what Kurt has turned into, Jean ran Logan’s memories for us, as though they were a video. Which was freaky enough.  
Wow. My big brother. Raven and Irene’s son.  
Ah’ sometime wonder what he’d have been like if Mom had kept him, has brought him up, instead of me? We’ll never know. All ah know is that Kurt is kind an’ gentle an’ just nice. Nice to be around.  
Kurt might look scary, when ya first meet him, but not for long; he a sweetie. But he looked scary in Logan’s memories, an he’s The Wolverine, he don’t scare easy. 

Shook me up, seenin’ Raven like that too, so strange, so alien. Why? I wanted to cry out to her. Why do that to yourself.  
Why do it to him too? He’d not done anything to hurt her.

I know she was mad, mad as hell that the Prof wouldn’t bring Irene back to us.  
Krakoa’s supposed to be our home now, for all of us. Me an’ Remy, Kurt, Mom. Why not Irene too?

Momma Irene is furious.  
I don’t think I’ve ever seen her so angry. Ever.  
She’s angry with Mom, angry with The Prof and everyone on Krakoa.  
An’ she’s scared, I can tell.  
She’s scared for Kurt. So am I.  
She’s scared for Raven, scared we might never get her back.

We’ve even got a bit of a plan.  
See, my brother, Kurt, the brother I never knew I had, he’s got a lot of people who love him too. One of which is a little old lady called Emelia. He met her when he was in Britain with Excalibur, an’ trust me, once you meet Kurt, ya never forget him.  
Emelia is a clairvoyant, that means she can talk to the spirit-world, get tips from the other-side. Sounds like hokum? Yeah, that’s what I thought too. But one thing ya learn with the X-Men, sometimes the crazy way is the way to go. 

Emelia just looks like some posh old English dame, but then, Momma Irene just looks like a little old lady too, there’s more to both of them than meets the eye. Emelia says we needed Irene to get Mystique back. So me and Ororo an’ Jean did just that. 

Me an’ Irene an’ Meggan, we’re goin’ to England. Because Emelia says so. We’re goin’ on a treasure hunt.

****

How can one small country have so much history? Look at it on a map, a couple of dinky little islands. But there’s so much that’s old here, learnin’ that the hard way.  
Little old towns, villages, it takes _forever_ to get _anywhere_ an’ once you’re outta London, or any of the cities, it gets smaller and smaller and older and older.

But even little towns can have something interesting in them, can have an art gallery, or local museum.  
Me an’ Remy always joked that we should go on our honeymoon by vistin’ the little ones in the States, on a mad road trip. Ah always wanted to see the biggest ball of string in the world.  
Well, I got my road trip, but it’s with Meggan an’ Momma, not Remy.

Ah don’t really know Meggan, she’s real pretty and I know lots of the guys think she’s kinda dumb. Must confess, I did. But listening to her talking to Irene, as we drive up the country from the Krakoan gate in London, she’s not dumb, she’s just a bit different. An’ what she lacks in brains, she makes up for in heart. She’s real sweet.

Toftmoss is a small town with a smaller museum, but Emelia says we have to go there, there’s someone or something waiting for us. We don’t know exactly what.  
So me, Meg and Irene are outside the Toftmoss Museum on a grey and rainy April morning. The board outside says that it’s only open four days a week, ten until three.  
We were expecting it to be deserted mid week. But there’s a little crowd. And the local paper have sent a reporter an’ photographer. And there’s a even a lone cop or, policeman, as they say round these parts.  
Because, this week, Toftmoss Museum is important; it’s most famous resident has returned home.

We’re here to see Pete Moss, local celebrity.  
A guy who died two thousand years ago.  
His body was found in a peat bog, so the name, duh, Pete Moss, perfectly preserved. He’s normally kept in London, but once a year he’s back in the little museum in the little town he came from.

And with him come the things he was buried with. Emelia thinks that we need one of the old things, but we don’t know which one.  
Things dug up out of the cold black bog. 

As we shuffle into the rooms smelling of new paint, the tour guide drones on about the Iron Age an’ history, the preservation of bodies in anaerobic environments, the triple death, and sacrifice, it’s heavy stuff. An’ kinda dull, ah tune out, I’m watching Momma.  
She’s awful quiet.  
“Momma?” She turns, smiles at me, that lovely smile. “You okay?”  
“I’m fine, darling. Just thinking.”  
She’s still real mad at Mystique. She walks with her cane and black glasses on, but she never stumbles, her precognition tells her the layout of each room as she enters it.

All these people. This might be a problem? Nah, security is one local cop. They shut the place in the afternoon, we’ll just come back tonight, when it’s nice an quiet. I glance up at the big skylights, diffuse white light coming through them. Piece of cake; both Meggan an’ I can fly.

But we don’t know what the hell we’re lookin’ for.  
I dial up the connection to Jean on Krakoa.  
**Hiya, Jean?**  
**Hi Rogue.** Her psylink is a warm thought in my head. I trust Jean.  
**We’re at the Museum, gonna have a look around, want to show Emelia what we’re seeing?**  
**Sure, I can do that. Be careful.**  
**Sure will.** Meg’s in the link too, we share a grin, the room is full of old codgers, most of which make Irene look like a spring chicken. The local mayor, couple of important types, but it’s all mundane.  
We look at the old wood and glass display cases. Most of the stuff is bits of boring pottery, scraps of cloth with little hand written white cards sayin’ what they are.  
There’s a couple of more secure cases, more modern, with the stuff, the artefacts, found with the body. Rings, a necklace, a belt, lots of coins. All stained, all old. A sword, bent in two, a cup, a little horn.  
**Is Emelia seein’ this Jean? Any idea what were lookin’ for?**  
**She’s, er, dowsing, with a pendulum. There’s lots of things together, it’s making it hard for her.**  
I look across at Irene. She’s looking at the central display, it’s much more impressive than the old cabinets, a clear perspex box, all climate controlled, under dim lights to preserve the remains inside. It’s kinda spooky.  
She moves closer, waiting her turn. One of the Museum staff, a kid barely old enough to shave, approaches us, sees Mamma’s cane and dark glasses. He also notices Meggan, it’s hard not to, she’s the prettiest thing for miles.

“Hi there.” He has an eager smile and curly ginger hair. “We’re got a Braille catalogue if you need it?”  
Irene jumps sightly, surprised by him, which is weird, she normally senses people before they speak.  
“No,” she says, slowly. “No, it’s fine...”  
She walks towards the exhibit.  
I’m not sure what I was expecting? It’s obvious a body, well, about half a body, from the hips up. He’s sort of hunched up, his hands raised on his chest, as though he’s holding something. His skin is like leather, tanned by the peat.  
”He’s blue...” Irene’s voice is hoarse. I can still feel Jean in my head.  
“Yes,” the curator nods. “It’s woad, it’s a plant dye, he dyed his hair, his skin, his nails. He’s a unique specimen.”

I can feel the hairs rising on the back of my neck. Irene walks forward, as sure as if she can see. Her hand goes to her mouth, she suddenly looks old, as fragile as any of the antiques here.  
I look into the box.  
At the face of a man who died two thousand years ago.  
It’s my brother’s face.

I catch Irene as she faints.


	4. The Body

Rogue catches her mother as she faints. I feel her panic and fear through our link.

On Krakoa, I catch Emelia as she staggers too. Sit her in a chair. We’re both shaking.

That unmistakable face; high cheekbones, sharp pointed chin, aquiline nose, curly hair.  
But most of all, the colour.  
The bog body, in the display case, it’s Kurt.

Except, of course, it’s not. 

For a start, the man in the museum exhibit has been dead for two thousand years and Kurt was alive just a few days ago. And there are other differences.  
Rogue is sitting her mom on a chair with the help of one of the museum staff, but I’ve asked Meggan to keep looking around the room, so I can piggyback on what she sees.

No, it’s not him. The hands, curled up on his chest, they’re normal, human hands, five fingered. There’s no fur.  
But the similarities are scary. And it’s not just the colour, it’s the scars, curling across his face, down his arms, across his chest, just like Kurt’s. Ribbonwork, the textbooks call it, Celtic knotwork.

Scott gets Emelia a glass of water, unknowingly echoing the museum staff and Irene, half a world away.

****

Rogue’s back with me a minute or two later.  
**Sorry about that, sugar.**  
In spite of everything, her cheerful enthusiasm is unquenchable.  
**Your mom’s okay?**  
**Sure, it was a bit of a shock, but she’s a tough old bird**  
She is. So‘s Emelia.

Emelia has her pendulum out again.  
I can feel Rogue’s scepticism through the psylink but Emelia believes. And I believe in her, she exudes quiet confidence in her clairvoyance. And we are out of any other options.

Emelia says that there is something at Toftmoss Museum which can help, help us to find him, to help him. Whatever’s left of him. 

We just need her talent to tell us _what_.

Rogue and Meggan go back to looking in the display cabinets, at all the artefacts found with the dead man. Emelia withdraws into herself, pendulum in her hands, spinning slowly. Seeing what they see through me and our psylink.

Emelia has consulted with her friends in the magical community, since Kurt and Logan visited her last month. This is a different sort if magic to the types we have experience with; nothing like the sorcery of Steven Strange or Illyana. Nothing like the mutant magic of Arakko and Apocalypse. It’s old magic, the magic of the Earth, the moon. It’s specific magic, each area of the planet deals with it in slightly different ways, the native peoples adapting it to their needs. Europe has had so many waves of immigrants and migration, it’s power is muddied and blended. But some things remain the same, the power of blood and death, of sacrifice. And love.  
The man in the bog in Toftmoss, was he murdered? Or was he a willing sacrifice, to the old gods, to the old magic? Was he poisoned then dragged into the bog to have his skull cracked and his throat cut? Or did he walk calmly, dignified, serene, knowing his fate, accepting it?  
The lines on his body, they are the same as the scars his mother carved into Kurt’s flesh. That The Morrigan used to channel the old magic into him, to change him into the old god Cernunnos.

Kurt sacrificed himself to the old magic. He willingly, knowingly, touched the portal to our Luna habitat.  
Because Kurt wasn’t strong enough to deal with The Morrigan. But Cernunnos was. Is.  
He sacrificed himself to remove The Morrigan from Krakoa, before her evil could corrupt our new homeland.

The pendulum spins, slowly. Hypnotically. Then faster.  
Emelia‘s slack face clouds with a scowl.  
I look over at Scott.  
“She knows.” Her voice is a whisper. “She knows they’re there.”

As she speaks, I feel the flood of panic and fear across the psylink from Rogue and Meggan.  
There’s the whirring of dark wings.  
And the screaming starts.


	5. Crow

It’s like looking for a needle in a haystack, we’ve no idea what we’re lookin’ for.  
Meggan’s got herself a little fanclub of museum assistants, they’re followin’ her round like duckings after the mamma duck. It would be cute, if we weren’t planning on a heist here tonight, she’s a bit too memorable, but it means Irene and I can move through the exhibits without anyone stopping us.  
Still got the psylink open with Jean on Krakoa.  
Weird, it’s comin’ on fall down there, spring here. Not lived in the Southern Hemisphere since we were in the Outback.

It’s goin’ dark, wonder if it’s gonna rain again?

Holy...

The skylights explode.  
Birds, big, black birds and nuggets of reinforced glass rain down.

Darn! Really _big_ black birds.  
They’re everywhere, they’re loud, they’re in your face an’ they’re attacking.  
Me, Meggan, Irene, the staff, the visitors, everyone.  
Razor sharp beaks, claws, even the wings are weapons. They go for the eyes. People are screaming, running, falling. Cawing. Laughing.  
“Down! Down!” I shout, grabbing dark shapes and throwing them to the floor, stomping on ‘em. Meg and I take to the air too. People fall to the deck covering their heads. But there’s so many of them, choking feathers fill the air.

There’s the sound of more glass breaking, they’re dive-bombing the display cases, they scoop up the exhibits in strong claws.  
“Stop them!” Irene cries. She’s using her walking stick with unnatural accuracy to knock the screaming birds from the air, but when she downs one, another takes its place.  
I grab the nearest thief by the throat, it’s cold black eye is horribly intelligent.

Then, as suddenly as they descended, they all take off, screaming into the air, a black wave up and out. Meggan and I follow, I’m vaguely aware of a flash of light below.  
The bird nearest to me explodes as a well aimed, charged, playing card hits it.  
One of the birds attacking Meggan is pulverised by the red flash of Cyke’s optic blast. 

Backup has arrived.

But the birds rise, as one, and, screeching like banshees, they are off and away.

I’ve still got the bird I grabbed by the throat. Tangled in its claws is a long silver chain. I pocket it. Meggan’s hair is streaked with blood, I can feel it dripping down my own face. She’s also got a dead bird, she pulls something from its claws, it’s a little wooden cup, but most of the exhibits are gone with the black, feathered army.

****

The X-Men are too late for the fight, but they help with getting all the injured and terrified people out of the building.  
The cop, blood and feathers stuck to his face and baton in his fist, calls for back up, for ambulances, give the man his due, he doesn’t bat an eye at a bunch of superheroes turning up in a flash of light.

Remy is there when I land.  
“Cherie?” I’m a mess, I know I am by the state everyone else is in. God, his arms feel good, I hug him close, just for a moment. Then, I remember.  
“Momma!” Illyana is helping her to her feet, her glasses are gone, her grey hair pulled out of its bun but she’s alive, she’s on her feet and, unlike the rest of us, she’s unharmed. “Momma, you okay?”  
“Yes.” Her voice is hard. “Oh yes, I’m fine.” She’s furious again. She opens her hands, she’s managed to save the little hunting horn. 

****

The redheaded museum assistant, as disheveled as the rest of us, looks over the wreak of his museum.  
“Oh.” He looks lost, the place is devastated. Except for the central perspex box, standing untouched amid all the blood and broken glass. The ancient man inside undisturbed by all the chaos. As though he’s only sleeping.  
I touch his arm. “Come on, ya, really need to get outta here.”  
He looks at me, there’s no recognition in his face, I guess he’s in shock.

There are flashing blue lights outside, the cop’s back-up had arrived and it’s time we bugged out.

****

They don’t look like much, but Emelia claps her hands with delight at the three treasures we managed to save.  
The silver chain, made up of little crescents is, so she says, a girdle. To bind The Morrigan.  
The little cup, of prehistoric bog oak with a lump of amber, as red as blood, set into it. I thought amber was kinda orange? But Emelia says you can get red too. That’s to hold Her.  
An’ the horn? It’s not big, the edge and mouthpiece set with dull silver and a sliver chain to hang it from. That? That’s to summon Cernunnos, to find my brother, that’s for Kurt.

We’ve got our weapons. It’s time to go to war.


	6. The Horn

I know I’m dreaming, that helps, but not much.

I’m running.  
Sometimes I’m chasing.  
Sometimes I’m being chased.

It ends the same; either I catch him.  
Or he catches me.

And we rut. Like the animals we are.  
Like the stag and hind.  
Stallion and mare.  
Buck and doe...

Except, of course, we’re both stags, stallions, men.  
It doesn't hold us back.   
It’s brutal, primal animal rutting.

No love. No care. No tenderness.

When I saw Him, standing in front of the Luna portal, naked, unashamed, erect and proud, I wanted him. He touched the animal in my soul with those cold, inhuman eyes.  
I was hard as iron, so hard it hurt. I am again, when I think about it. When I dream about him.

I’m dreaming now, this time, I’m the hunter and when I catch him...  
I wake, gasping, shaking. The beds a fuckin’ mess. Damn. It smelt of him. Everything here smells of him. Damn it.  
You goddamn stupid idiot. Stupid fucking fool. Why the hell did you do it?  
I lie back, my arm over my face, getting my breathing back to normal.  
Fuck.

He’s out there. Alone, except for his mad mother. What’s he eating? What’s he wearing? Is he aware? Aware of who his is? Was?  
Is Kurt still in there? Or is it just Cernunnos now?

****

The cold shower needles my skin almost to the point of pain.  
The bathroom is full of his shit, fancy shower gel, bath stuff.  
No fancy stuff where you are now, kid.  
Shit. He hates bein’ dirty.  
Where the hell in the world are you?

The cold water washes away hot tears.  
My poor little lad.  
I have to find him.

****

I go out into the lounge, only wearing my yukata.  
Emeila and Irene are sat there, waiting for me. Great.  
No, I’m not surprised, seems to me the old birds are running this show.

The table is a mess of paperwork. His paperwork, from when he was researching what his mother had done to him, overlaid with Emelia’s notes. And a map of the world. Some withered leaves.  
The three things from that British museum sit on the table too.  
A silver chain of little crescent moons, a wooden cup and a little horn.  
A hunting horn.  
Looks like goat or sheep.

I go over and pick it up. It feels familiar in my hands, warm. I feel like I’ve held it before.  
I look up at the two old women.

“What do I have to do?”


	7. Gardening

My garden gives me such delight. It is full of green and growing things, Krakoa has provided me with rich and fertile loam and it is my refuge from the world, from the stresses of life, of The Council and my work with the Marauders.  
Kurt loved my garden too. We would sit and talk, as the short tropical twilight closed around us and as he disappeared into the shadows. I miss him terribly. We became even closer, while he was recovering in Wakanda, from the assaults his mother perpetrated on him.  
He’s one of my oldest, dearest friends, my confidant, my confessor, when things go ill. I miss his charm, his wit, his wisdom, most of all, I just miss him.

My garden is growing strange new plants. For my beloved Kurt.  
First it was a resurrection egg.  
I never thought I would defy Charles and The Quiet Council like that. We used it to bring back Irene, Kurt’s mother.

Now? Now we, Black Tom and I, are nursing a new bloom.  
It was a poor, shrivelled little thing, but it’s growing, slower than we’d like, but it’s getting stronger and bigger by the hour. Life perseveres.

Tom, Black Tom, he’s been a villain, a bad man, a dangerous man. But Krakoa has given him purpose, a job, a future. He’s very closely linked to our Island home, one sometimes wonders if he’s too close? But he can sense things about Krakoa that no one else can, not even Doug, who can talk to Krakoa, Tom’s connection is closer than that.  
He was also in contact with Kurt.  
He told Kurt that his mother was trying to break free, the stasis had slowed her down but hadn’t stopped her, and Kurt took matters into his own hands to get her off the Island.  
I wish my beloved friend had felt able to talk to me about what he planned to do, before doing something so drastic, before giving himself over to the old magic. I can understand why he couldn’t confide in Logan; Logan is not always rational in his desire to keep Kurt safe, but I wish he’d spoken to me.  
But then, Kurt wasn’t entirely rational either, he was still suffering from his wicked mother’s attacks on him.

When Kurt, as Cernunnos, took The Morrigan through another portal, away from Krakoa, the portal collapsed and died after he passed through it. So we don’t know where they went.  
It died, but it left a seed, which Tom and I have been gently nursing into life, in the hope it will survive and grow into a portal we can use to follow, to mount a rescue.

But we’re running out of time.  
The moon is rising a slender sliver of blue. She attacked the museum at the new moon, when her power was at the strongest. Strong enough to get free of her son? We think so. Emelia Witherspoon thinks so.

She’s only going to get stronger. We know that. The crows which attacked Rogue and Meggan in Britain, they were after the same artifacts we were. The same weapons in our war.

****

Logan stands in my garden, arms crossed, regarding the little portal, it’s stunted, barely four foot high, but it’s trying it’s best, under Tom’s gentle encouragement.   
At his belt hangs the little silver chased hunting horn. The horn which can summon Cernunnos. Kurt.  
“So.” He looks across at me. “We gonna do this, ‘Ro?”  
Just the two of us; the portal won’t take any more. Once we use it though, wherever we end up in the world, Charles should be able to pick up our mental signatures with Cerebro.

We could end up anywhere. We could be walking into a trap.

He’s ours. Our friend. Our husband. On paper. And in our hearts.  
She can’t have him.  
Neither can Cernunnos.

We won’t give up on him. We won’t lose him without a fight.

I nod. “We are.”

We step towards the portal and it activates in a shimmer of blue light.  
Bright Lady, please, please let us find him.  
Let us find him safe.  
Let there still be enough of him to save.


	8. The Meadow

We step from the middle of the tropical, autumn night on Krakoa into a wildflower meadow of spring colour on the edge of cool, dripping woods. Sun hidden by canopy and clouds, but we were guessing on the northern hemisphere, most likely Europe, looks like we were correct. Smells clean and pure, there’s still some pretty untouched forests in Central Europe, if that’s what you’re looking for. Back someone into an impossible corner an’ most often, their instinct is to bolt for home.  
‘Ro’s beside me, beautiful as the earth on which she stands. She puts her hand on my arm. “Germany?”  
“I’m guessin’ so, darlin’ “  
She rises into the air on just the hint of breeze, high up above the tree cover.  
“I see nothing.”

She lands as smoothly, there’s a worry line between her beautiful brows. I hate to see her hurtin’, hate to see her in pain.  
“Let’s see if we can find our lad, ‘Ro.” I want to say ‘Let’s see if we can bring him home.’ But I don’t want to get either of our hopes up.  
I look down at the little hunting horn, it looks tiny, fragile in my big, clumsy hands. Buried in a bog for two thousand years. The sliver round the rim and mouthpiece gleams in the cold, diffuse light.  
It’s supposed to summon Him.  
The wild one, Cernunnos.  
What if She’s with him too? We’ve got a surprise for her, if she is.  
But Emelia thinks she’s got away from him, she thinks that being able to summon the crows to work for her is a sign that The Morrigan has got free of her son, of Cernunnos and is running free.  
I’ve no fuckin’ clue.  
I just know that I need to see him, to check he’s okay.

I bring the horn to my lips.

Not sure what I expected, I ain’t no musician. But the note rings out, across the valley, loud and clear, sweet and sad. It raises the hairs on my arms; an unearthly sound.

An’ now we wait.  
What if he’s too far away? Emelia says there’s no such thing; if we’d used the horn on Krakoa, He’d have heard and tried to come to it. To us. Even if it killed him. Too far, too remote to get to. So we’re here, where Kurt fled to, just about fifteen days ago.  
A lot can happen in fifteen days.

The minutes drag by, the waiting is killin’ me. But the birds have gone quiet.  
“There.” Her eyes are almost as sharp as mine.  
On the edge of the woodland, at the far end of the little meadow, there is a stirring.

The sun comes out.

Oh. Oh, fuck.  
He’s magnificent. No other word for it.  
Over seven foot tall, more with the antlers. He moves like a stag too, hesitant, cautious. Sniffing the wind for danger. But he’s no choice; he’s drawn here by the horn.  
He sees us. Pauses.  
On the edge of the woods, the sunlight makes him electric blue, an unearthly creature. The lines of spells carved into his flesh are visible. So are the wounds, on his face, his hands, his chest. Wounds made by vicious claws and beaks, the same wounds Rogue and Meggan came back from the museum with.  
He’s alone, there’s no sign of his mad mother.

He’s hesitant, unwilling to cross the meadow to us, he wants to stay by the tree line, in the dappled shade. He’s not scared, just wary.  
Oh, my beautiful boy.  
But that’s no boy. No man. No earthly thing.

“Goddess.” Ororo’s voice is hoarse.

I step forward, those horns are wicked, gleaming in the sunlight.  
I keep my eyes on his face. It’s Kurt’s face, but it’s not; his face is mobile, relaxed, easy to smile, Cernunnos’ face is empty, an animal, despite standing on two strong legs. My Elf smells of soap and shampoo and sulphur, always, just that slight burnt matches odour that’s uniquely him. Cernunnos isn’t human, I can smell him now, he smells of soil and earth and the musk of unwashed fur.

Fuck. My body is reacting to his scent. He’s fucking gorgeous.

“Hey.” He tilts his head, like a stag, sniffs the air, after my scent. He’s trying to decide if I’m prey, a threat... or a mate.  
Oh, hell.  
“Hey, Elf.” I keep my voice low, unthreatening. It’s down to me, down to me to reach him, I was the one who summoned him, “She got away from you, eh?” Those wounds, he couldn’t hold her. He shakes his head, but it’s not understanding, there are early spring gnats floating around his face, it’s an animal reaction. I move slowly across the meadow, ‘Ro stays by the portal.  
“You heard this?” I hold up the horn. He’s looking at it. ”You recognise it, don’t you? You don’t know me, but you know this?”  
So beautiful. He’s a handsome guy, strong, lean, all muscle under the soft fur, those long limbs and always graceful, but the power in him now is another level, it elevates him beyond human, this is a force of nature. He’s looking at me again. My own animal instincts howl, the urge to fight him, to best this magnificent creature, to wrestle it to the ground and to make it mine.  
My breath catches. A cool breeze touches the back of my neck, smelling of Ororo and rain, reminding me, grounding me; there’s good reason I didn’t come alone.

“Kurt?” No reaction, no recognition. I crouch down. “It’s okay, we’re not gonna hurt you.” I’m not sure we could; those wounds, the birds inflicted them but they had magic behind them. I doubt a normal crow would have been able to damage him. They shouldn’t have been able to damage Rogue, or Meggan either.

There’s a jet, somewhere in the distance, very high up. He lifts his head and looks up at the sky. I need his attention again.  
“Elf?” Those uncanny silver eyes are on me again. “You wanna help us? We’re gonna catch her, we need you to help us.” How much is he understanding me? He licks his lips, wrinkles his nose, he’s relaxing slightly, those sleek muscles under the fur. He crouches down too, which makes him look more like Kurt, that easy, flexible grace. His tail curves out, twitching at the tip.  
He glances over his shoulder, into the dark woods at his back. Thick, impenetrable virgin woodland. The sun has gone in and the spring leaves rustle.  
“You know where she is? Can you find her?”

The woods explode with screaming black feathers.

****

Didn’t know there were so many fucking birds in the fucking world. Mostly crows but also rooks, magpies, jackdaws, huge ravens, screeching, deafening. They flood out of the woods, dive bomb us, all three of us, aiming for eyes, for faces. I release my tension by swatting the bastard creatures out of the sky, slicing them so that black feathers choke the air.  
I hear Cernunnos bellow and those glittering antlers move with terrifying accuracy.  
Ororo’s lightning crackles across the grass and the birds explode when it touches them, then she whips up the wind, lifting them, swirling them up and away from us.

But she’s too late, I raise my head and She is there. Fuck. They were a distraction. She’s standing right behind her son, red hair, blue skin, sharp teeth and those mad eyes, and in her hands is a sliver of twisted silver; one of the treasures her birds stole from the museum.  
She looks right at me, grinning and snaps the silver torque around the strong indigo neck.  
Ororo throws lightning at her but it doesn’t seem to bother her. She replies with her own black lightning and I hear ‘Ro cry out.  
Her smile widens.  
“Bring him down.”

Cernunnos falls on me like a blue avalanche.

****

I’ve sparred with Kurt, too many time to count. Hell, I’ve taught him, he’s quick, quick to learn, quick in a fight. But he can’t beat me; ya never teach ‘em everything, do ya? And, no matter how good Elf is at fighting, he’s no killer, he lacks the urge to maim, to hurt, to destroy. Cernunnos has no such restraint, he just goes at me with a roar, like the animal he is. He’s using Kurt’s skills, and his own, the antlers are razor sharp, one tears across my bicep, burning. He weighs a ton, way more than Elf, and he spins me into the dirt. I come up swinging but he’s agile as cat. I can hear my own growl. My blows are connecting, blows which would have smashed Kurt to oblivion, he can shrug them off. And he does.  
And my animal side, my feral, ferocious side, loves it, lives for it. Magnificent. We churn the ground as we clash and my blood sings with the glory of battle.  
He’s trying to gore me, to disembowel me.  
We end up wrestling, he’s captured my wrists, my claws, which should cut him to ribbons, barely touch him, and he has no fear, of them, of me, we’re both breathing hard, he’s grinning, sharp fangs, flared nostrils.  
He’s got me beneath him, pinning me. We’re no longer fighting...

Fuck.  
Oh yeah.

He brings his head down, sniffs my neck, my scent. His hard, lean, naked body pressed against me, both our chests heaving. We’re both bloody. The silver torque around his throat, the antlers on his brow, we’re caught, just for a moment, like flies in amber.

Fuck. I want him. I can feel his hard cock against my belly; he wants me too.

Then the noise breaks through to me; his mother, The Morrigan, screaming like a flock of her birds, the crack of ‘Ro’s thunder. Other, familiar noises. The concussion of Summer’s optic blasts, Sean’s tooth rattling sonic scream, what sounds like explosions.  
The X-Men couldn’t follow us though the stunted portal, but we’re nothing if not versatile, we have other ways to travel the world, Magik, Pixie, Outback, take your pick. Once Jeannie or Chuck could hone in on where ‘Ro and I were, they could follow.

I hear the mad bitch cry out in that dry, bird screech. “To me!”

He pulls back, he’s immensely strong, I still have hold of him, just. But I see it in his face, the moment before he ‘ports. Recognition. Regret. Just for a second, intelligence. Just for a heartbeat, Kurt.  
Then he’s gone and I have a mouthful of sulphurous smoke choking me.

The raucous screeching stops. They’re gone. They’re both gone.  
The little meadow, torn and desecrated by the battle, its wildflowers trampled into the earth, it’s a mess off black feathered bodies and red blood.

I lift my head.

Summers is helping Ororo to her feet, she’s bleeding, leaning heavily on him.  
Jeannie, Rogue and Sean are still in the air,

Damn, damn it too hell. She’s just too fuckin’ strong.  
And now, with the torque around his neck, Cernunnos will do as she tells him.

Little Pixie approaches me. She’s not fighting, her face is streaked with tears. She has the silver girdle which can bind The Morrigan in her hands, but it doesn’t look like she got anywhere close.  
“I’m sorry.” She bows her pretty head. “I couldn’t get near.”

I want to punch something, someone, anything.  
But it’s not gonna work.  
We can’t out power her.  
We’re gonna have to outsmart her.

“It alright, honey.” She’s only a kid, I can’t be mad at her. “We’ll find another way.”  
We have to. Kurt’s still in there. I saw him. But for how much longer?


	9. Little Old Ladies

Arms crossed, neither of them say ‘I told you so.’ But we can fill in the blanks.  
Both Irene and Emelia sit at our round table.  
They were right.  
Brute force did not work against The Morrigan.  
In fact, it nearly killed Ororo. Thank heavens for our healers.

She’s sat between Logan and myself and she looks fragile, Ororo is never fragile.  
I squeeze her hand, and she returns the gesture.

The artefacts sit on the table in front of us, a silver belt and a little wooden cup. The third, the horn, is on Logan’s belt. Always.  
We saw Kurt. He’s alive.  
He’s also a seven foot tall pagan fertility god. Rather an overachiever, our Kurt.

Logan’s face is a bleak mask. This has wounded him deeper than any cut from a physical enemy.  
We’ve always shared a link, we’re both passionate people, he’s a difficult man but his fire calls to me. We called it love, and it is.  
But his relationship with Kurt isn’t based on fire and passion it’s a deep warmth and trust. They’re friends, first and foremost, but there’s a depth to that friendship which is extraordinary. 

I’ve never been quite sure, until now, if they were aware how much each cares for the other?  
Now it’s there, for everyone to see, there can be no doubt in anyone’s mind.

We need to end this. One way or another.

I look around the table, as well as Ororo and Logan we have Irene and Emelia, Scott, Sean, Rogue, Remy, Brian and Meggan Braddock, Peter and Illyana. We could fill the table a hundred times, we’ve pared our numbers down but anyone who knows Kurt would help him. Because they know he’d do the same for them.  
We are the X-Men and we do not give up on our own.

I know this, more than anyone.  
The Phoenix hangs over my head. Agony and ecstasy combined.  
Kurt, our spiritual one, would have that I’ve looked into the face of God.  
Does he feel that way too? Now he knows what it feels like first hand?  
He was an angel. A literal angel. This man, who looks like a devil.  
And now? Now he’s Cernunnos. Is he aware? Aware of who is? Was?  
I was aware.  
It changed me, forever.  
But Kurt has already been to heaven.  
He threw himself from heaven.  
To be back with us.

And now this.  
It doesn’t seem fair, but then, what is? I never asked for the Phoenix either.  
****

Rogue doesn’t take her eyes off her mom, Irene looks worse than Ororo, she looks old, she is old, but she’s always been strong. She’s ill with worry. Kurt is her son, her biological son, Mystique is her wife, some bonds are never broken.  
Emelia and Irene are in charge, which is quite amusing, watching the guys being bossed around by little old ladies.  
Cassidy Keep, in rural Ireland, that’s where we’re heading. Sean looks uncharacteristically serious, listening to the plan, his daughter hosted The Morrigan, he knows first hand what she can do.  
She’s an Irish deity, Emelia says that’s where she’ll be heading anyway. With Kurt, Cernunnos in tow.

We can’t defeat her with brute force, we’ve tried. But we can distract her, while those cunning little old ladies do their stuff.


	10. Bones of the Earth

Cassidy Keep, imposing, solid stone, cold and dark.  
Old and full of secrets.

And, in the grounds, the Fairy Mounds, even older.  
On the hill overlooking the sea, stones, granite, worn by the wind and rain over millennia. The bones of the earth.

This is the place.  
Emelia says so.  
And she’s right, I know it. I can feel it in my bones too.

I put the horn to my lips and the sound echos, sweet, forlorn, timeless, across the landscape.  
Will he come?  
Can he come, now She’s got the torque on him?  
It’s my will against Her’s.  
She’s a goddamn goddess. And I’m just a man.  
But I love him. She doesn’t. It might be the only edge we have.

It’s May eve. The moon is full. It’s now or never.

Irene and Emelia have lit a fire in the circle of stones beside me, the pine and oak and rowan burn fast and hot.

There. I see the glint of moonlight on his horns as he lopes across the grass, naked, magnificent in the cold silver light. Oh, Elf, you always did look best by moonlight.

And She’s behind him, a dark malevolent cloud of old hate, old blood, death and pain, as ugly as he is beautiful. She’s maybe a mile away across the fields.

He stops before the hill, looks up at me amongst the stones, he’s breathing hard, his hair is a mess full of twigs and leaves, I suspect he’s literally been pulled through a hedge backwards. I can tell his fur hasn’t been looked after; Kurt is usually impeccably turned out and groomed but he’s been living wild for a month, his beard is growing in.  
The cuts The Morrigan’s crows gave him at the new moon have healed but the scars of magic glow silver on his flesh, the same colour as his eyes. The silver torque is heavy around his neck.  
He’s still glorious.

He tosses his head, like a nervous horse. We’ve got seconds before The Morrigan is on us.  
I tried this alone last time, this time, I’ve got back up.  
“Kurt?” Irene sounds tired, old. This has been hard for her, she loves Mystique very much. She loves her son too. He looks at her, tilts his head. She holds out the girdle of little silver crescents.  
“I need you to put this on her, my darling.” He looks at the belt, looks at her. Does he understand? Seconds, we’ve got seconds before she’ll be here.  
“Elf?” He turns his head to me, I sounded the horn, he came to me, at my command. “Please, darlin’?”

We’ve known each other for years, we’ve worked together for years. We trust each other implicitly. Our lives in each others hands. He knows he can trust me. Remember, Kurt. Remember me. Us.

Irene holds out the silver girdle again and then the screeching wave of darkness rolls over us all.

The X-Men hit The Morrigan hard. I can hear them but can’t see them for her black lightning, Sean, Cyke, Jeannie, Rogue, ‘Ro, Bobby, Remy, Illyana, Rachel. Feels like we’ve got half the damn island on to her. To distract her, to keep her occupied. This is power. This is everything the X-Men’ve got. Magic, raw power, energy manipulation, psi powers, She isn’t omnipotent, she can’t defeat all of us.  
This is also bravery, they know how powerful she is, how she could hurt them, kill them.  
Peter, Meggan and Brian Braddock like huge monoliths, step forward out of the gloom, not in the fight, they’re there to physically guard Irene and Emelia in the stones. So am I.

“Destroy them!” The Morrigan’s screech makes Cernunnos flinch, as though in pain, she wants him to go for them, for Irene and Emelia, She knows, knows they are the real threat. Obedient, he plows up the hill towards the stones, knocking Meggan and Brian aside like ninepins. He grapples with Pete. Peter Rasputin. Colossus. And well named. Kurt’s known him as long as he’s known any of us, loves him like a brother, in good times and bad. But those wicked, curved antlers gouge at his steel skin, sparks flying.  
Damn it, he’s so strong. 

I grab the silver girdle from Irene.  
“Kurt!” I bellow. “Take it! Do it!”  
He raises his head, still grappling with Pete. His eyes meet mine. Come on, darlin’ it’s me. You know me. Please.  
  
He downs Pete with a vicious blow, fuck he’s strong.  
And then he’s on me, a blue wave of muscle and fur and wild animalistic fury. We grapple, I don’t want to think what he could do to the little old biddies behind me. I can’t let him reach them.  
I’m not sure I could stop him without killing him. And that would kill me.  
  
He bares his fangs and my own animalistic nature surges forward, I want, I need to beat him.  
His hands grapple with mine, and then, his face inches from me, his breath hot and fast, I feel his left hand close around the silver girdle. The ancient artefact which can bind the evil, can bind The Morrigan.

He leaps away from me, from us, as agile and graceful always, the silver glinting in his fingers, and he turns and throws himself into the darkness, into the heart of the black lightning and blacker feathers which is The Morrigan.

****

We can’t see her, see him, the black lightning tears up the ground, every goddamn crow in Ireland forms a tornado of black malicious power.  
Then there’s a flash of light, blue, cold and the screeching stops.

The sudden silence is uncanny.

Black birds drop from the sky like unhealthy rain, some fly away in terror, reverting to their natural state.  
  
He stands at the base of the hill, in the shadow of the stones. The fire casts an unearthly red glow over his dark features. He’s streaked with blood, face and hands pecked and torn by the birds and by Her spells.

She is at his feet, her wings pinioned to her sides, the silver links holding her immobile. He face is twisted with hate, vile words spit from her scarlet lips. How dare he, how dare he betray her. She threatens, she cajoles, she screams and swears. He ignores her and drags her up the hill to us.

Up close, I can see what a mess he is, the torque burns into his flesh. He looks, for the first time, as exhausted and weary as he must be.  
He hands the end of the chain to Irene. There’s no hesitation, but when she brings up her other hand to touch his bloody cheek, he shies away.  
“Here, let me.” Emelia’s voice is gentle. She sits her plump ass on one of the stones, for all the world as though it’s a chair in her comfy sitting room. She looks up at the seven foot of raw power that is Cernunnos, There is no fear in her. No antagonism at all. She pats her lap and, slowly, he sinks to his knees before her, like the unicorn in a fairytale. Well, despite her age, she is still a ‘Miss’. He sinks down, those killing horns near her face and she gently, carefully, removes the torque.  
“There you go. That’s better, isn’t it?” She pats his head, he rises, graceful, shakes out the tension from his broad shoulders.  
She takes the torque and goes straight over towards the bundle of feathers and evil that Irene has by the slenderest of chains.  
The Morrigan hisses and pulls but Cernunnos reaches down and holds her.  
“Thank you, my dear.” She says, absently, and she fastens the torque about the goddess’ neck.

She thrashes and struggles, but they have the old evil bound.

****

Irene looks down at her wife. At the creature her wife has become. There are tears on her cheeks. She loves her, even like this.  
“Raven.” She names her. “Enough, my beloved. We need you now.”  
Emelia stands beside her, the little cup in her hand. Bog oak. Ancient stained by millennia in the cold dark. The red amber stone set in it gleams in the firelight.  
“Raven.” Irene’s voice is stronger now.  
Two little old ladies. One the mother, one the maiden.  
Two ancient deities. Cernunnos has her but he can’t keep her forever. The X-Men can’t beat her.  
Two little old ladies aren’t enough, they can bind her, but they can’t hold her.  
They need their third. They hold out the cup to Her. The moon silvers the liquid within. Three. Mother, Maiden, Crone.  
“Now, Raven.”

I’m stood near them, just the other side of the fire, even so, I’m not exactly sure what happens next. But The Morrigan shudders in her son’s grasp and then there are three sets of hands on the cup.  
And it explodes.

****

The force throws me off my feet.  
When I raise my head, it’s all over.

Cernunnos is helping Emelia to her feet, she looks ridiculously small next to him. She pats his arm, he doesn’t pull away.

Beside them, Mystique, Raven Darkholme cradles her wife in her arms. Her beloved Irene, her face grey and lined with pain. The remains of the cup in Irene’s hand, the wood has burned away, leaving just the red amber, glowing with its own baleful light. A prison for a goddess.  
“Irene?” Raven’s voice is a harsh sob. She did it, she gave up the godhead to return to the woman she loves. The woman she started this for.  
Irene reaches up, with the hand not holding the amber, touches her wife’s face.  
And then she’s gone.  
Mystique bends over her body, sobbing, she came back. Came back for her. For nothing.

****

Cernunnos carries his mother’s body down the hill. The fire gutters and dies behind him.  
Mystique follows him, mute. Emelia gives Peter the girdle and torque and his massive biceps flex as his huge hands fold the ancient silver into a little cage around the amber stone.

The X-Men hang back, except Rogue who rushes forward, her tears flooding her face.  
Cernunnos lays Irene down and Raven kneels beside her, she looks broken. Rogue’s sobbing is the only sound apart from the night sounds, creeping back into the land and the never ending sea beyond the Keep.

And we still have a couple of problems.  
What do you do with an angry, caged goddess?

And Kurt is still a seven foot antlered god.  
This is not an ideal situation. 

The theory was that the Mother, Maiden and Crone would banish The Morrigan. And restore Kurt.  
It ain’t happening. Damn it.

****

Sean knows this land. His ancestors have lived here for generations. He’s going to call in a favour.  
For the tourists, they call them Leprechauns. But that’s hokum, to sell t-shirts and keychains.  
The locals know them as The Families. And they respect them.  
And fear them enough not to use their real names, for fear of attracting their attention.  


****

The blue light floods out of the mound at Sean’s request. It’s May eve, the veil between their world and ours is thin.  
  
Cernunnos takes the angry red stone in its silver cage in his unique, two fingered hands and walks, unerringly, into it.  
And they come to greet him, with wings and horns and pointed ears. They look nothing like the sanitised fairytales, they’re beautiful but alien, strange, wild and feral, like him. They gather round his ankles, the smaller ones flit around his horns.  
  
There’s a singing in the air, hypnotic, call me, calling us. There’s a reason we didn’t bring Meggan, why we sent her back to Cassidy Keep, why we kept the fey ones like her away; they might not have been able to resist the siren call of home. Emelia’s eyes are full of wonder, like a child’s.  
They hang a cloak of spring flowers and new leaves around his broad shoulders, crown his brow with may blossom and he lets them.  
But the crack in the mound, between their world and ours is closing, with the approaching dawn.  
And he’s still inside.  
I want to call out to him, to use the horn to summon him, back to us. To me.  
But I don’t. I can’t.  
You can’t make someone you love do something. They have to want to do it.

The blue light is gone, the sun is poking above the horizon, golden, the colour of those matchless eyes. My cheeks are wet with tears.

There’s the crack of displaced air and rush of brimstone.  
And there he is.  
Without the antlers to hold it up, the may blossom crown falls into his eyes. He sneezes. It’s not very dignified, not very god like.

Then Kurt’s in my arms, warm and whole and real. An’ I ain’t letting go of him ever again.  
“Oh, hell, Elf.”  
“Shh!” He looks over his shoulder at the fairy mound. “They’ll hear you.” His face breaks into an enormous grin. “You don’t want trouble with the in-laws.”

We walk back to Cassidy Keep, hand in hand. Sean offers Emelia’s his arm with all of his charm.  
Back to Ororo who waits for us, to friends who fought for us, to family who died for us, to home.


	11. The Naming

I’ve had a lot to think about over the past few days, as the dust has settled.  
I do most of it sitting at my windows, looking out over our island.  
Krakoa has regrown my original habitat, the one Mystique bombed.  
I like it up here. I like the view. It’s where I choose to be.

She’s gone. Mystique. My mother. Father.  
Escaped. She’s good at escaping the consequences of her actions.  
I think everyone is secretly relieved.

Anna-Marie and I brought our Mother, Irene, home and buried her in Krakoa’s warm, soft loam. There was nothing left of her, she had withered away to just skin and bone.  
Charles says the resurrection was faulty; she aged too quickly.  
Time is always the hardest thing to control.

Emelia has gone back to her cats and her pretty little cottage.

Ororo has moved back into her beautiful garden. She kissed me on my forehead. We will talk. Later. We have things to discuss, but not right now.

Life goes on.

I look down at the little horn in my hands. So old. So powerful. Mine now.  
My husband gave it to me. After we consummated our marriage.  
He could have used it, to summon me from under the hill. But he didn’t.  
He doesn’t need it to control me.  
I came willingly.

****

What’s in a name?

Is Kurt Wagner any more real than Kurt Adler-Darkholme?  
How about Kurt Szardoz?  
Kurt Howlett-Monroe?  
The Incredible Nightcrawler?  
Elf  
Cernunnos...

He didn’t possess me.  
She freed him.  
But he was always there.  
He’s still in me. He always was. Always will be.

All the genetic manipulation in the world, the dark hands of demons and power hungry women, old gods, older anger. It only means something if you let it.  
Like a name.  
I chose my name.  
I chose who I want to be, we all do.  
I’m Kurt. Pleased to meet you.

**Author's Note:**

> Phew.  
> This was a very long time coming. I think I first drew Kurt with antlers in about 1982.  
> It’s ended up being ever so sightly slashy. Sorry. No, not really. And there’s nothing explicit, except Logan’s language.  
> Enjoy, I enjoyed writing it.


End file.
